get your human by her toes, if she screams don't let her go
by hel lokidottir
Summary: She is broken, and they are to be the guide to help her back on her feet; but, when secrets spill open and voices start to whisper, would it really matter if they are full of warmth? Because, when all is said and done, a monster would always be a monster and a hand stained with blood cannot wash its sins easily. sansfrisk (trigger warnings for abuse, blood, self-harm, suicide)
1. Chapter 1

(rewritten: 13-02-17)

—

Sometimes she wonders about the life outside the city—would it have been beautiful as the dusty books once said, filled with pretty flowers and fresh clean air and friendly smiles? Or would it be the same dark skies and putrid smell of smoke and hostile faces? She wonders about vast fields and farmers with kind and gentle faces, and would their hands be different from Father's?

Father has the softest hands, but, then again, what is the use of softness when it's the coldest too?

A laugh bubbles at the back of her throat, but it comes out as ragged chokes, and her sides hurt at each deep breath she takes. She hisses, but smiles. It's a tight-lipped line that reaches her ears, and maybe it's not what is supposed to be done by children like her, but she doesn't really care right now.

Father is far away, and his threats of _get the fuck here right now or I swear—_ is nothing but a wisp in the wind behind her. The pangs of hunger remind her of all the days he would feed her nothing but scraps, and she thinks that his threats are becoming useless; after all, she doesn't think she can stomach any more than a bite nowadays.

… but, she loves him.

It's funny, actually. She loves Father, but that doesn't mean he will look for a runaway brat he never chose to consider as _his_ child.

She breaks down at the thought, her tears welling up in her eyes, and they taste like dirt and grime. Oh. That must be from when she stumbled earlier, her shaking legs giving out under her and her trembling fingers managing to reach nothing but air.

Father would have been enraged if he ever saw her as messy as those girls on the streets, she thinks idly as she lifts herself up with a grunt, her knee digging into the ground painfully. He doesn't like it when people assume, and he doesn't like it when she's near and filthy because people tend to assume.

He'll love it, then, when he finds out she's gone in the morning, and he'd love it even more when he finds that she's never going back.

Father will thank her, and the light at the end of the cave is close.

Will "there" be better? Or, will it be the same? The latter sounds so disappointing, but she hopes its better. _Please_ , be better.

And— **oh.**

She finds herself falling, and the air is so, very cold, and she's crying and crying because _is this really what Life has for her? Just a small piece of hope after years of having none, only to be taken by a simple root?_

It's funny, and she almost wants to laugh at how pathetic her few years on earth are. And, she almost wants to scream at the absence of her voice, and— **oh.**

 _Who cares anyway?_ She gives up.

She fell, with not an ounce of Determination left in her soul.

—

 **a/n: an overdue re-write but im actually quite proud of it. will try to upload chapters (new and replacements) every other week. and im really sorry for not being active this last ... how many months, hehehe. but still thank you for the support guys!**

 **feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated**


	2. Chapter 2

Quiet.

It was always quiet in this place, no scuttle nor scurry of tiny insect legs, nor are there echoes and calls and chitters. There are no sounds of rock falling from weakened spaces in walls, not a plop from the water dripping down from the small stalactites and crevices on the ceiling. There is an absence of the loud rush of the wind as it breezes by, the lack of clacking footfalls of the man who walks with languid steps, and none of the usual hum of the device he is holding.

It is silent, a stillness found only in the Ruins. It is not an eerie kind of quietness, where spines shiver at the feeling of eyes, no; nor is it a tense one, filled with bated breaths and opened eyes and hushed anticipation. Rather, it is somber and arcadian, a warm tranquility that fills everyone with security and contentment. All the things, living or not, tries their hardest not to disturb this sacred quietness.

Doctor W.D. Gaster looks at the screen of the device - an old slim radar with a green glass plate, its sides scratched and the original indigo color painted so many years ago now fading into a dull gray. Five circles, all inscribed within one another, are on the screen. A small white dot continuously blinks in the middle, while another white dot, though just a little bigger, is moving slowly halfway towards the former.

Suddenly, the device vibrates, he presses a button on the side of the radar, and a timid voice asks, _"A-anything?"_

Gaster shakes his head. "Radar picked up an unusual life form hours ago, yet it is still to be known if it is human. It may just be another stray animal that had accidentally fallen," he replies as he walks with long yet unhurried strides. Rats and rabbits have a tendency of stumbling down in the Underground, but their small souls are of no use to help destroy the barrier in any way. He continues walking though, in familiar directions towards the location of the fallen creature. "But, I shall check on it, just to be sure."

 _"A-are y-you sure?"_ The voice asks once again. _"I could s-send someone else i-instead. Y-you've been busy with t-the C-Core lately, you cer-certainly need a br-break."_

The doctor smiles, and shakes his head. "It's fine. I was meaning to stop by anyway," he responds, "King's orders." Or was it the Queen's? He'd forgotten who had commanded him to check on the garden of beautiful golden flower halfway towards the entrance of the Ruins. It's an order from the sovereign, he is sure of that. Hmm... It doesn't really matter anyway. He ends the call before the person on other side of the line could talk, and slips the device into one of his pockets on the front of his lab coat. It vibrates again. He ignores it.

The doctor stretches an arm towards the violet wall nearest to him, his fingertips feeling its damp coldness. He brought his hand back to him, his mouth tugged in a gentle smile. He turns to a corner, and he is suddenly assailed by the heavy scent of buttercups. He covers his mouth in an attempt of blocking out the smell, but, of course, to no avail. Once inhaled, the aroma will stay in his being for quite a long while. He sneezes, and rubs his nasal bone. Regaining his composure, the doctor continues to trek to the final corner.

The buttercup fragrance increases, and with heightened senses, his nasal bone itches and hurts. He doesn't mind though.

He would never mind.

The sunlight peaks from the "Garden Room" (that's what he silently calls it), the puddles on the ground reflecting some of its glow. The entrance to the room nears him.

Gaster stops. Hesitates. Continues.

The golden flowers almost blinds him, as they flash the brilliance they had caught from the morning light high above them. As always, the small flowers cluster in one great group in the center of the room, only a handful ever straying from the assemblage. Green leaves peak from under the petals, and the dirt peaking under them. Gaster smiles at the scenery, his already curved mouth curving a bit more, if that is possible.

He stands there contentedly, just breathing in the stuffy and sharp scent of buttercups and basking in the warm light. The doctor wonders at a distant thought, a grim yet fond one, and makes a noise similar to the clicking of a tongue. He is not satisfied with the conclusion of his thoughts.

Gaster is pulled out from his dissatisfied state at the feel of the radar's vibration. He almost forgets about the fallen creature.

Bending his knees in a slight crouch, his eyes studied his surroundings in a one quick swoop. Although it is unlikely that wild animal predators had fallen, it does not hurt to be cautious. The web they had asked the spiders to weave just directly below the hole to help catch humans safely is intact, but nothing is there. Either a wild animal, a very very young child (a babe, perhaps, but he does not think humans are that reckless to let such a young thing wander off on its own), or a very very keen observer who noticed the net and is able to pass through it. The former is the only thing that could have possibly happened, yet he searches, just in case. He scans at the shadows and all the cracks on the wall possible for a youth to huddle themselves into, looking for any signs of a hidden human.

None.

Gaster hums, and tries not to show his low disappointment. Although he had expected as much, what with the radar blinking a small white dot instead of a brightly colored one and the web being empty, he still hoped that it was the last human they needed to break that damn barrier once and for all. He shakes his head, and let out a sigh.

Well, at least he could enjoy his time here in the Garden Room.

He walks towards the flowers, kneels before them -

\- and abruptly jumps at the sight of the ghastly body laying on the bed of buttercups.

It took him a moment to steady his shocked self, before he quickly snapped into action. He presses his index and middle finger to the body's neck, and sighs in relief at the faint pulse under their skin. Still alive.

'But, only barely,' he realizes. Is this the reason why their soul was only a dim white on the radar? Well, if so, that is not good. They need a healthy soul to add to the other six, and a healthy soul means a healthy living human.

Quickly, he fumbled for the device, and presses a button. It rang thrice, before someone finally answered. _"D-Doct-?"_

"Alphys, I need the medical room ready," Gaster cuts her off. He places his hand on the human's head. "I think I found the last soul we need, but the kid ... He's not in the best condition."

Silence on the other phone. _"A-Alright."_ A clicking sound, and the line went dead.

Gaster looks at their bruised and purplish skin. The fall couldn't have done that. He knows. 'So, what happened to you, boy?'

 ***Frisk is a girl (just to be clear).**

 **.to (my first reviewer *wink wink*)** guest **: thanks for taking time to read and thinking that it's good. ive been lazy a long time now, haven't written for months, and i had hoped dearly that the prologue didn't suck hahaha . sorry sans isn't here yet but he'd probably be on the next chapter**

 **.to all you guys who followed and/or favorited, thank you so much!**


	3. Chapter 3

Alphys pats her sweating brow as she backs away from the medical bed, her other hand setting down the gauze she used to wrap her patient's shin. She eyes their heaving chest, and narrows their gaze in worry at the slight shake it carried. At least they breathe better now, and more calmer too—a much welcome change from their previous shallow wheezing.

She stands up—or rather, jumps from the stool she sat on, her feet landing loudly on the cold tile. It isn't the first time she frowns at her short height, after all, her parents had both been towering monsters and had rivaled even the King's oh so long ago. _So how come their Lil Alphy stayed so_ little _after all these years?_

Shaking her thoughts away, Alphys walks towards the giant monitor at the wall on the right side of the bed, and looks at the image on the screen. An X-ray of the sprain she had just treated. Her lips curved slightly.

If there is anything about Alphys that could make her smile, it is the fact that her hands were always so calm and surprisingly deft in handling certain emergencies and situations—mostly on the medical and scientific fields—when her whole being is a stuttering and stammering thing. It makes her think that maybe, _just maybe_ , Doctor Gaster and King Asgore hiring her was not a mistake and that her current position as the Royal Scientist's apprentice is not some kind of dumb luck or twisted judgement.

(It makes her lacking height a little less embarrassing.)

She taps a button on the console under the monitor, and the image of the injury disappears, leaving the screen in an idle blackness. She waits for the next image to materialize, only to realize that there isn't a next one.

Her shoulders slump, and she sighs in relief; finally, she's done.

When the Doctor had called saying that he needed the medical room ready, she had been worried. There had only ever been a handful of instances the Castle's medical room was ever prepared—or used, for that matter—and seeing as this was the first time she had been ordered to ready the place and save a monster from turning to dust (or so she had thought), it was understandable that Alphys was nervous.

But, as her mentor continued speaking, she heard nothing but **human** ,and her nervousness turned into fright and all she thought was _blood on the floor fragile calcium fracturing soft pallid skin breaking so so much failure and they would die and I can't do a thing to help them they'll_ die _and it'll be all my fault and there's_ nothing _I can do about it—_

A memory of a failed experiment flitted through her mind, and she remembers ash on her fingers and gold liquid oozing from the tip of a needle. She remembers the small Froggit convulsing in her hands, froth from its mouth dripping down its chin as it slowly turned to dust. She remembers being horrified and guilty and scared as she dropped the injection, glass breaking into pieces as it hit the floor and murderous solution pooling around it. She remembers sobbing apologies into her hands, ash smearing her face, praying to whatever deity or god there is to make her realize that this was just a bad dream and make her wake up wake up _wake up!_

She remembers seeing death and failure unfold before her very eyes, and she can't do anything about.

 _Alphys cannot let that happen again._

So as soon as the human was brought, Alphys had set out to work. Cleaning and disinfecting their visible wounds, taking an X-ray of their whole body, checking for possible fracture of bones, and fixing it safely how ever she can. There had only been a few sprains (right shin, right ankle, left wrist, both index fingers and left pinky) and a dislocated shoulder which she snapped back to place (Alphys winces at the memory, her patient's pained yelp still echoing in her ears). Fortunately, their spine seems okay, and she didn't find anything wrong with their ribcage; their skull lacked the damage she thought the fall would've caused (although their forehead had a nasty cut), and internal organs looks like it's functioning well.

Yes. Alphys was done but.

There's just something bothering the doctor, and she can't help but look at them with concern.

They lay there unconscious, eyes shut close and mouth parted faintly. Their mousy hair fanned around them, an almost visible slick of sweat on and below their nose. The white sheet pulled just above their small yet developing breasts— _'she'_ , Alphys finds herself once again thinking for the nth time for the past hour, 'the human is a _she'_ , and not a 'he' as Doctor Gaster thought the human was (she sticks with calling them "they" until she clarifies this information with the Doctor soon)—yet their arms were at their side, not covered by the blanket as not to irritate the IV carefully pushed under their wrist's vein. Bandages envelop their limbs like a second skin, the white cloth snaking towards their elbows. And, under the white medical dress are more bandages.

When Alphys had removed their shirt to scan for wounds and cuts, she thought was ready for anything. Large open wounds, gut falling from said wound, blood dripping like a waterfall—all those things.

But, a year's old ugly scar that looks like the shape of a large ohm circuit symbol on their stomach, multiple small burn marks from something circle on their backside, teeth marks on their shoulders, deep nail imprints on their chest, rich purple and blue and black bruises that had nothing to do with their fall on their sides and hips, red welts on their back, two large clips on the forearms the length and width of her thumbs—

She stops there, and tries not to think of the rest of their violent wounds.

—Alphys wasn't ready for all of that.

She walks back towards them, and places a hand over theirs gently. Their hand, soft-knuckled and cold fingers, were so much smaller than hers. She gingerly brushes their knuckles with her thumb, running comforting circles again and again.

"H-hello," Alphys starts while taking her seat back on the stool, never once pausing her gestures. "My n-name is Alphys, a-and I, uhh, I am one o-of the few doctors h-here. Umm, okay, so th-that's kind of a l-lie, I'm a-actually the person w-who is in ch-charge of all the m-medical stuff here. This is my f-fourth year since b-being appointed by my m-mentor, the Royal Scientist, and well. You m-might not know it, but h-he is the one who f-found you.

"And umm. Hmm. O-oh! Do you kn-know anime? S-silly me, of c-course you have! Do y-you know K-Kissy Kissy Mew New? I know t-there's probably a lot o-of animes up there, so m-maybe not? W-well then, I hope you don't m-mind me spoiling you about it. It a-all started in the l-land of..."

Alphys continues talking, her hand never leaving theirs.

 ***Sooo. I owe you guys a lot of sorry-s. I'm so sorry that this chapter is confusing af, I kinda got the idea that Alphys would label them as 'them' until Gaster would approve that Frisk is a girl idk why though hahaha. I'm sorry that this update is late, a lot of things happened with me travelling a lot, my phone always lowbat, no stable internet connection, and now I can't fucking type properly cos my thumb has this ugly blister due to me getting electrified and it hurts whenever I use pressure on it and blah blah blah you guys are probably not interested in that. (BUT PLEASE GUYS BE CAREFUL WHEN PLUGGING ANY ELECTRICAL DEVICE AND MAKE SURE ALL YOUR WIRES ARE IN GOOD CONDITION KAY?) And. I'm sorry that this chapter is less conversation-y and more describe-y and the obvious absence of Sansy. Sorry. But soon. SOOOOON.**

 **.to** Pacifist Dragon (guest) **: thank you for finding it interesting! I hope you enjoyed this as much as the previous chapters.**

 **.to all you who had favorited and/or followed this story, OH MY GOD thank you guys! Thank you so so so so so so so mucho for sticking around, and although this story's not as exciting or fluffy or skillfully-written like others, I'm going to try my best to make this into one you guys will find different—a GOOD different (hopefully)**


	4. Chapter 4

"do you think the patient broke his left arm?" the small voice asks curiously, but the Scientist does not grace his companion with an answer. The cheeky grin on the young one's face says all there is to know, and Gaster does not like where the conversation is leading up to.

Of course, his silence is only met with the building determination of his student.

"because i hope he's … _alright_."

The sight of the castle just beyond the hill is a welcoming sight, and Gaster cannot help the sigh of instant relief leaving his mouth. As much as his student is brilliant—an utter genius, as a matter of fact—his sense of humour is quite terrible. Very, very so.

Gaster peers at the stocky, young fellow, whose mouth curves into an ever-present grin and pinpricks of white glitter from their eye-socket. Gaster smiles.

His son.

Gaster shakes his head. "That's not very appropriate, Sans," he chides, nudging the boy with a hand softly with a scolding look. "That is also a very new level of horrible."

He watches him whip his head back and let loose a guffaw, words stumbling out in between his chattering teeth: "but y-you're smiling, gaster!"

It took him a moment to let the words sink in before giving into an amused groan. "I know," Gaster grunts, his mouth trembling to stretch into an amused smile, "and I hate it!"

He doesn't really _hate_ it, per se, but knock-knock jokes and puns are becoming a very … toxic vice for his child. There is no need to encourage him any further; god knows how many jests Sans could fit in one casual conversation alone.

Still, San's humour has become one of Gaster's favourite needed breaks from the monotony of life.

He loves his son, and Gaster pats the top of the young skeleton's skull fondly when he sees the awe on his face as he stares at the CORE's looming figure at the distance.

"it never fails to amaze me," Sans starts, eye-sockets lit with flaring blue. "that a vessel like that could store so much energy, and that you were behind its design and works."

With a shy yet eager tilt of his head, Sans adds, "i want to be like you someday, gaster."

Gaster blinks at the innocent yet honest remark, before a grin so unlike his smile breaks through his expression. "Do not dream to be someone like me, dream to be someone better," he tells Sans, and he's almost glad that his son is too shocked to hear him quite clearly when he continues, "because you already are."

"gaster, you mean it?"

He smiles, before rising and continuing to walk once again. "Of course I do! You're going to be greater. You just have to," Gaster pauses and throws his son a mischievous smile, "work yourself to the _core._ "

—

The castle is wide with winding corridors and high ceilings, and if one is not careful, they may find themselves lost within one of the many rooms it houses.

 _Maybe it is better that way_ , Gaster thinks as he waits patiently in the Judgement Hall, eyes focusing intently on the stained windows of glowing gold and copper. They say the Delta Rune is a symbol of salvation and hope that, one day, the barrier guarding the underground would shatter and all life in it would resurface to the overworld. No one knows where the symbol had come from, but it does not matter.

What matters is that it means so much to every one of them, and even more so for him.

There is a whistle in the air—a sure sign of Sans' close distance, his growing magic barely restraint within his body as he races towards him. Gaster turns away from the windows.

"What did the King and Queen say?" the Royal Scientist asks when his son settles to stand and admire the walls beside him.

"they said they're going later, but they're asking if you could tell them more about it," Sans replies, eyes still twinkling at the display in front of him. The sight always gets to him.

Gaster hums in thought. "Go to Alphys'; this might take me long and she needs help."

"'kay," is the only word said, before Gaster feels the rush of eager magic encompass the room and disappear in the blink of an eye. He rolls his eyes. Kids these days and trying to show off …

Well, Sans isn't technically a child now—too short for his age maybe, yet old enough to replace his double-striped shirts with single ones now—but still.

Sans is a boy, and a boy he will always be to Gaster's eyes.

He shrugs his shoulders before walking towards where he knew the king and the queen would be, bidding the room with a silent farewell and a quiet promise of a soon return.

—

 **a/n: i would offer a batch of cookies as an apology for not updating the story for a very long while now, but … uh, i dont really know how to bake, so umm. i offer this lame excuse of not finding time and schoolwork is full of bull and philosophy is not my strongest suit that im pretty sure im gonna flunk the class, so yea. i hope sans isn't too out of character in this short chapter but it was needed for … purposes, yea, "purposes".**

 **hope to update soon because you awesome guys and girls out there deserve a better and on-time-to-update writer than me. and speaking of which, thank you for the support and the continuance of you reading this whole story. lots and lots a love!**

 **feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated**


	5. Chapter 5

—

When the blue of his magic receded back to his fingertips, Sans gasps. He can feel the ground under him shudder, and he falls to his knees. His SOUL thrums against his ribs, its glow a bright cyan, as pools of power grow hot at the back of his skull.

It hurts, and Sans instantly questions his decision of letting excitement override his sense of caution.

Wait. He had a sense of caution? Huh, whaddya know. One really does learn something knew about themselves every day.

Sans groans into a fist, and he blinks to make the world stop spinning before him. It takes a few tries, but, when everything is finally still and set, he breathes a sigh of relief. The room is bright though. _Golden._ He stares.

Where …?

"oh. throne room." So, just a few steps from his previous location? Sans hums in thought and disappointment.

He had read various articles on psychokinesis and whatnot—it's actually quite entertaining and, at the same time, shocking how humans are actually close in understanding monster magic—and, one had been fascinating enough to warrant a try. The theory had suggested that if a road or path is folded, the distance needed to travel across it would shorten, and, to put it simply, one could manage to teleport.

Or, at least mimic teleportation.

The theory isn't elaborated well enough for him to know more about it, and he had gathered enough from the old and tear-riddled paper to understand the basic pieces—measure of distance, counts of time, variables, constants, x, y—but, it had come quite obviously that he needs more than just educated guesses and desperate tries stemmed from frustration at the lack of information.

Still, though … even after adding the 1 in the formula and erasing the safety trigger, it still hadn't worked?

Welp, it's back to the drawing-board then.

"… to dunk it somewhere," he sighs. The theory could probably still work, but it would take years for him to find out how. He couldn't afford to waste any more resources than he already had, especially when the theory is still just that—may look good and dandy, but not guaranteed to be true. "maybe gaster could help?"

He blinks at the ceiling, "nah, 's too much of a bother." Gaster has already too much work awaiting him from being the Royal Scientist, he does not need to burden himself more with some silly experiment. "and, anyway, this is a personal project. it probably won't be called personal if someone helps."

But, maybe asking for an advice or two would be sufficient …? Sans nods at the thought, and stores it away for later. Right now, an unconscious human and his second mentor Alphys is waiting.

—

"knock, knock."

Gaster says that he hates his puns, but does everyone think so too?

"S-Sans, quit it."

Apparently, yes, yes they do. That knowledge makes him pout and grumble, but it is a temporary sadness he shakes off easily. It just means that finding a worthy companion for his awesomeness is made easier—or, looking at another perspective, more difficult.

Meh. Whatever, it's not like he cares; worrying about romance is Alphys' job.

He steps into the room once the door slides open, the 'on-going' caution light above glowing red. He shrugs. Alphys probably forgot to turn it off. The squeaking sounds his slippers make breaks the silence, accompanying the beeping monitor at the side.

The sight of a rather calm Alphys makes him pause in his step, and he couldn't help the smile that graces his skull. She isn't usually this way, and it's comforting to see the lack of sweat that normally dots her face. His feet continues on again.

"hey, al." She's at the computer, typing at something or the other, her tail swooshing behind her. He could hear her hum in response to his greeting.

She laughs—a twinkling sound contrasting against the grimness of it all. "Sans," she says, turning around to look at him with a grin. "You l-look slightly out of brea-breath there."

Sans shrugs, because he won't deny that he looks like he's ran a marathon. He hasn't, of course, but overexerting strength and pushing against limits could take a toll on anyone. He is allowed to look horrible and tired. "yeah, well, i don't really need to _breathe_ , so."

"I still d-don't get you and your ph-physiology, skeletons," Alphys shakes her head, and he brings a hand to his chest, gasping scandalously.

"you study us … _naked?_ why, i never."

She rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh, yeah. S-So, if you're done being dr-dramatic and trying to m-make me feel uncomfortable—you're f-failing, by the w-way—let's go ta-take a look at our p-patient. Shall w-we, Mister Pr-Prodigy?"

Sans pouts, crossing his arms in pretend-anger, before chuckling. He tilts his head slightly in some sort a reply, ending the joke short. "'lright." The nickname bothers him too much to continue the amusing banter, anyway.

Alphys sighs. She leads him towards the far part of the room, closed off with pristine curtains hanging from high ceilings. He stares at it, and bets a gold coin or two that he could reach that without using his magi— … wait, never mind.

He withdraws his outreached hand, and stuffs both into his lab coat's pockets.

"I won't t-tell anyone about th-that," Alphys remarks, tone playful yet oddly on edge. She grasps at the curtain, but, before she pushes it aside, she warns him to be quiet.

It's not like he's going to holler and scream, but he reassures her with an "okay".

He sees the patch of hair first, and he doesn't really know why. It's not the colour, probably, because it's not the most eye-catching hue on the spectrum. Then, it is the skin next. It's flush and pale and sweating, wrapped in white coverings. Sans remembers reading about ancient corpses and large triangular tombs, and he decides that the human looks too … _alive_ for that.

"al, he _is_ still alive, right?" he asks, drawing closer to the patient's side.

"Well, I'm pretty sure th-the monitor s-says it all, b-but, yes. She's a-alive," Alphys says. He throws her an inquisitive look, and she tells him, "The hu-human is female."

"not male."

"Yes." He could only nod at that, his fingers brushing aside the stubborn mess of hair curling at his— _her_ ears. This pronouns-thing is kinda getting confusing. Sans wonders what her skin feels like; his yet-forming bones are not quite receptive to the sense of touch, unfortunately. "She's younger than you … er, well, tha-that's what I think. The hu-human hasn't woken u-up yet, I'm afraid. So, b-basic data about h-her is not available until th-they do. But! … B-But, I'm pr-pretty sure your ages are close. Or, s-something like tha-that."

How monsters age differ from how humans do. "yeah, i get it." He doesn't, not really, but he thinks that maybe after this would be a good time to start getting it. Right now, though … "so, al."

"Hmm?"

"what is the human's problem? i know i can't help that much since i am not well-trained in this specific are, nor do i have any prior knowledge about this, but i could still relay whatever you need to gaster."

And, the calm Alphys is gone. She's looking at her feet again, fingers tapping against surfaces in quick raps. Sans blinks as he waits, tension and suspense growing rapidly. Is the patient alright? Have they sustained life-threatening wounds, loosing blood, currently dying— _cannot be SAVEd?_

He can't move, his bones locking into place, and the back of his head brimming with concern and worry to the point of almost bursting. Alphys isn't speaking, and it's filling him with so much yet so little that he doesn't know what to do …

But, Alphys does speak. Her voice, stumbling and silent, is speaking about possible pasts and may be illnesses and could be plans, and his voice, small and unsure, is telling tenable doubts and reasonable suspicions and probable failures.

"I … I don't kno-know if a-anything is gonna change, but … I feel like thi-this would be impact gre-greatly." The corners of her mouth lifting strangely; she smiles.

Sans sighs. Why does he even bother?

"alright."

—

 **a/n: it's currently almost midnight, and i should really be studying for tomorrow's finals but** _ **fuckit**_ **. i'm just gonna wing it, and hopefully, i could crack the hopefully-there** _ **please oh please be there**_ **patterns on the answer sheets. uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that hehe. okay! umm, i don't really have a lot of things to say, just a bit of explaining to do:**

 **sans' personal project, the teleportation magic is actually based on a time-travel theory which could actually be true if it were expounded clearly. i've forgotten who were the proponents or what the title of the paper was, though. ugh**

 **monster age and human age differently, yes. i love the headcannon where monsters age, stops aging at a certain point, meets soulmate, has kids, then ages again—so sue me, it's a great headcannon. pouts**

 **alphys' plan would probably be at the next chapter, but i think it was already hinted? i don't know?**

 **also, a rewrite of chapter three should be up soon, since stuff has been changed here which does not follow the previous chapter (example: castle – lab), sorry for the confusion and inconvenience guys**

 **welllll, that's all, i think? i hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as i did writing this, and i love you guys! you guys rock! see you guys next time**

 **feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated**


	6. Chapter 6

—

"Please, excuse the dust and grime you may find here, Your Majesties," the Royal Scientist sheepishly tells the King and Queen as they walk along the bright-lit hallways. Compared to the hubbub of fellow colleagues as they buzz along their own paths and works, the pace of the three is unhurried and almost lethargic. Of course, the weight of this visit from his sovereign is anything but light. Contrary, it is taking all their strength not to run the short distance just to see the unconscious human patient slowly recovering from his injuries.

Well, that _is_ what Alphys had reassured them on an earlier call.

The King, the tall monster of fur and horns, chuckles in understanding. "It's alright, Gaster," he says, voice laced with amusement as his eyes trace the white, pristine walls, floors and furniture. "If anything, this hall is tidier than any of the castle's!"

"That's because there hasn't been a clean-up in years, Asgore," the Queen comments. A serious undertone laces with her tender voice, but the King merely laughs it off as if the danger emitting from her words is but a joke. How such a peculiar relationship came about, Gaster does not know, nor does he have any answer as to how it works. Husbands and wives are enigmas—a knowledge that stems more from emotions and bonds, than of scientific basis and facts. He is not ashamed to admit that it still puzzles him beyond belief.

Then again, he had shunned the thought of marriage from his mind for such a long time. He is not going to stop and think about it now.

The time is dire, and he would be a fool to waste any more of his mental capabilities for such a small, useless thing.

"Do not fret, Your Highness. The castle always looks stunning," Gaster offers slowly, mulling over key rooms and corridors, before breaking out into a more genuine smile at a particular throne room. "I hear the King's personal garden is growing quite well this year?"

"Golly, had the servants told you again? I ordered them not to. Now, the surprise isn't much more of a surprise …" The King laments, the strict discipline of his shoulders loosening until he is completely hunching over, all the years of being taught of regal propriety thrown out of the window. The scene looks oddly out of place, truly, but Gaster had been friends with his superiors for so long that he can only chuckle alongside the Queen at the watery face of Asgore.

"Your servants may have told me, but only to that extent. If Your Highnesses would allow me, I would like to see them myself and judge whether or not it really will take my breath away." Regardless of whether or not it had grown more beautifully, the flowers will _always_ take his breath away.

That is all Asgore had needed to break out into an excited ramble, his eyes glittering enthusiastically. Gaster tries not to remember the face similar to that, younger and more innocent, and Gaster tries not to notice how the Queen's smile slipped just a bit off. He tries not to think much about the similar prince they had both been forced to remembering at seeing the jovial King; he does acknowledge the fact that they had remembered him for different reasons.

"You fancy flowers, don't you, Gaster?" Toriel asks after a minute of re-composure, and he nods delicately, wondering at the sudden strike of conversation. Even Asgore pauses in the middle of his ramblings, leaning over to hear them better. "Then, why not grow your own Garden? Not to mean any offense, as we do love your visiting and your compliments, but would you not like to have your own?"

 _Oh_. Gaster suppresses a smile. "Thank you for asking, Toriel," he starts, taking his eyes off of them to glance at the direction they are heading. It is only after he made sure they really are going in the right way did he turn his sight back to them. "Although I do love flowers, I do not think they—or any plant, rather—feel the same towards me. They always die, before it could even start to sprout. I think it's due to the hazardous and unstable lifestyle me and my son have. Or, maybe it is Snowdin's harsh climate? Well."

Thinking about this inability hurts him the most. Gaster shakes himself away from such a negative thought.

"But, I do love the ones we have here, both at the Ruins and at the castle, and just seeing them is enough joy for me."

Asgore pats his back. Gaster is sure the King only meant to comfort him, but his hand is heavy and large, making the friendly pat much more painful than it should have. He groans under the weight. "We'll—uh. We'll bring you bouquets next time."

Cut and bundled? Preposterous! He would not permit such cruelty, thus turning down the offer quickly. The Dreemurres are terrifying when it comes to firm decisions, but they are more frightening when their stubbornness shows. Particularly Toriel— _no_ , it's certainly Toriel. It is a minute and a half until both parties had come to an agreement, and only then had they finally reached their destination.

"Shall I expect the potted buttercups soon then?" Gaster smirks, feeling equal parts triumphant and silly for enjoying such banter, despite being so childish.

"As long as it is wrapped _finely_."

"Of course."

See? Juvenile. There is no stopping the fluttery twinge inside him, however. The warning light overhead is red. Did Alphys not say the treatment was finished? Hmm.

"Will we wait outside for long?" Toriel hesitantly inquires when the silence became too thick and his humming too unnerving. Gaster supposes that even a Queen who used to live such a rowdy and reckless life such as hers can get antsy. Well, in their situation, who wouldn't be?

He dispels their concern with a tight smile. "Alphys must have forgotten to turn it off, again," he guesses, moving his hand to knock on the door thrice.

It opens several seconds later, and a troubled Sans looks up at him with somber eyes. "Is something the matter?"

Sans only tips his head back, as if the question had not already seeped in. Now, he's staring at them quite curiously. What happened?

"Sans." Slowly; he reminds himself to talk slowly, in case his son is in shock. "Can we come in?"

"uhm, not yet."

That's … that's actually shocking. "Not yet?"

"not yet."

Sans steps away, shuffling slowly until he is claimed by the shadows, only for Alphys to emerge from it. Her glasses are fogged over, and Gaster wonders at the eagerness behind the lenses. It is a grand contrast from the young skeleton's own tentativeness.

"I apologize for the inconvenience," she states. Amusedly, he thinks that her stance should _at least_ pretend to be a bit sorry. "But, there are matters that need to be discussed with haste."

The King ponders, "Has this something to do with the young fellow Sans?" … Yes. Yes, Gaster would like to know about that, too.

"No, it is not, Your Highness," she shakes her head. "He is only suffering from a stupor caused by magic fatigue. Earlier I had already confided with him about the human's state, and with his help, came about more information. And, it is not … pretty."

The things he is hearing is atrocious. Physical beating to the point of crushed bones and damaged tissues? Permanent scars of brutal sexual assault?

A thin, frail— _young,_ _ **her**_ —human? Who would do such a thing?

—

 **a/n: formal conversations are formal, and late updates are late. much wow. i have no excuse? except my lack of motivation? that's not a proper nor acceptable excuse? well, i tried.**

 **i apologize for a lot of things, mainly for this story's whacked-up and confusing order, detail, etc (get ready for some shit you guys didn't order for, so go ahead and skip this part if you want to):**

 **when i said i was going to rewrite chapter 3, i really was going to, and i did. halfway through it though, i guess, i was fed up with life and almost deleted, not only this story, but also this account along with the whole folder of drafts i've made over the course of time. i only managed to permanently delete the folder. i couldn't part with this story, after all, due to my attachments to the kind reviews and feedbacks you kind people gave me.**

 **long story short, im going to start revising some of the chapters again, but i wont promise a speedy repost/update**

 **the key details i won't change much is the gender labels of frisk. it's confusing, i know, but it serves great purpose. and if it had offended anyone, i sincerely apologize. it was not meant to give offense to anyone, and that is why i will try harder to be more cautious about it. though, this is the case, i will not change it completely, since the story would not be the same as i had envisioned for it to become when i had first written this a few years back. this is the final chapter of the confusion, anyway so**

 **at the beginning, i have thought of this as a heavily romantic sans/frisk story. now, after years had passed and although it wouldn't be as heavy as i had once intended it to, i** _ **will**_ **still put the ship here. why? because … [insert spoilers here] … and because i ship them, that's why!**

 **although i encourage intelligent debates, i do not, however, permit nor condone hate and bashing towards this—or** _ **ANY**_ **ship, for that matter. so, to whomever has a great aversion to the ship,** **you** **are the audience, you have the choice.** **if you choose to leave, then i** **thank you for your time and effort reading until this chapter** **;** **i will not force you to stay nor will i blame you for leaving** **. however,** **to those of you who chose to stay,** **i once again give my eternal thanks. also,** **do not fret, for i shall warn you if ever a heavy romantic scene will play out. though, i think … it would be few and few in between since the perception of romantic sans/frisk here is** **not as ... romantic? it's probs going to be a slowburn, because i do not believe much for the "fall too fast, fall too hard" mindset (though i occasionally enjoy it)**

 **such a long author's note. thank you for sticking with the story, and for sticking with this jerk of an author**

 **feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated**


	7. Chapter 7

—

It has been more than an eternity, she comes to a lazy thought, of being in a state of nothingness. She doesn't mind though. In fact, she had come to find comfort at the unusual sensation of warmth and coolness both brushing against her skin at the same time. It had always been too cold walls and floors or too hot hands of father's friends—a shudder. She shudders, but she doesn't understand why. Wait, no—

Everything is ghostly—haunting, _grey._ _Exhausting_. Her limbs are exhausted, tired—she wants to … to sleep? Rest? _Die—_ there's a figure lying adjacent to her, staring with empty eyes.

Frisk decides it is better to ignore the other occupant of this strange world of grey things, and so she does, floating in this non-existent abyss that must be hell or heaven (—because, _where else could it be?_ —) in silence. It's peaceful, but serenity feels dull, weighing heavily on her bones like anchors to the sea. It keeps dragging and dragging and _dragging_. She can't get away. It's fine; it doesn't—doesn't matter.

No, it doesn't.

(She's dead, and it doesn't matter, because _she's dead._ )

The smell of bleach and antiseptic is absolutely shattering.

—

They had been in the middle of an argument, his words calculating and cutting while hers had been carefully placed points and figures that could have made him proud in the confident way it is explained—if not for the growing pain between his eyes and the loud thrumming of the bright light beneath his shirt. Sans doesn't need to think beyond an average being's brain to come into realization that his mental restraints have gone loose, and _oh dear_ , he really does need to sleep the adrenaline off from his system—when they hear her stir.

It's a small sound of shuffling sheets and strangled breathing noises, and they both stiffen instantly, eyes wide and flickering. His words of disagreement, which he had repeatedly tried coercing her into mulling over ever since the particular conversation had been struck, is pushed back by a silent swallow. Alphys coughs into a fist, before smoothing down imaginary wrinkles from her coat.

He nods when she puts a finger over her mouth, not bothering to roll his eyes good-naturedly at the unneeded caution, because by this point, any added caution and reminder is not unneeded. _Walk quietly_ , she motions with her hands.

Their journey towards the five meter destination is nerve-wrecking, as each lift and land of their feet—clad in slippers and otherwise—sends loud squeaks and squelches breaking through the relative silence. Of course, that may be due to the sudden hypersensitivity of his auricular senses, since he well knows that he doesn't sound like that certain stampeding Royal Guard Captain running through a path of twigs. He trudges noisily at occasion, sometimes dragging his weight rather gracelessly, but that only happens after endless meetings and mind-numbing expeditions in the deeper parts of the Underground.

Regardless, he grimaces with each step, slightly at awe at how unperturbed the senior monster is. Alphys quirks a corner of her mouth up in amusement at the sight of him obnoxiously tiptoeing, and he grins after a moment's pause, the flutter of urgency and frustration almost flying away from him at the light-hearted exchange.

The human is still, though her arm has gone up from her side, and he can almost feel Alphys' excitement deflating with his. Sighing, he retracts his gaze from the small nose situated daintily on the centre of her face—it seems that this is mostly the case with humans, or so the books he's read so far says—and turns to look at Alphys.

"alphys—"

He finds she couldn't keep the annoyance from her voice when she cuts in, letting a soft glare settle straight between his eye-sockets. "Sans, is letting the human stay at your home really that of a bad idea?"

Sans looks at the side. "no." It isn't a problem—it's not, _really_ —however, having to cater to such an important patient who may need to have special care is a difficulty in its own. This has been their recurring argument ever since he has helped her with gathering information straight from the patient's brain—a situation in which, at that time, had looked as if it were the best possible action to do, despite the obvious toeing of moral boundaries—and had found a rather strange activity in one of the regions. It had been stagnant, yet at the same time, moved in jittery-like paces—scary. "but, we're not even sure what the problem is."

She scrunches her nose, deep frowning crevices lining deep, and she actually growls when she demands if he even knows what a scientist is. "Sans, are you even a scientist? This is our chance to finally have something other than lost and false hope, and you're telling me you can't do your part because you're scared of mishaps?"

He would have taken great offense—because, _what even_ —if it weren't for the automatic tone under her clipped voice, and Sans couldn't help but laugh sadly at the ridiculously real image of her having to mutter the same words over and over again under her breath, trying to solidify the notion in her head.

"Why are you—! W-Why are …" and then her angry façade shifts into a fond and exasperated smile. "Don't laugh, i-it's not funny."

Sans wipes a tear, a small blob of glowing blue magic at the corner of her eye, "no, it's not. i'm sorry." He inhales in a shuddering breath, watching the chest of the human rise and fall in gentle rhythmic beats, and he thinks that it's admirable how one could look so frail and so solid at the same time. "but, 'm sorry. guess i got carried away. took things a bit too _lightly_."

"I-It's fine, Sans." She pushes her glasses, which had gone askew at some point in her outburst, but she stops, and sends him an unamused stare. "There was … a pun there, wasn't there?"

A sheepish finger-gun is his answer, a groan and a guffaw trailing after. It chimes with the monitor's beeping, and this sets his mind in a state of relative peace. He glances at the human, cocks his head to the side and turns to Alphys.

"Do humans usually have brown eyes?"

—

 **a/n: halu frends, it is i, the glob-awful person with no excuses except life is not good but i is trying (how many times did i try this again) thus finished this draft that had been here in laptop since … october last year and wow has it been that long? huh. anywho, i think my writing style changed, and, im sobbing because sans and alphys are kind of ooc. i think. also, i is very bad at keeping promises so now, im just trying to quickly finish every draft ive done to publish (but huh, im pretty sure by now you all know how fickle and stupid and lazy and useless i am, so probs dont think much of it).**

 **in an unrelated note: i can't believe everyone's graduating and im stuck in school until august like yes wow life is good and im a lazy ass student who can't keep her shit together yes go grades, do your 360 to 0 flip like woooh here is my support and the dishonour of my family! sorry just had to vent a bit, ahahaha…ha**

 **also sorry about my grammar, ive been in a meme-hype since who knows when**

 **anyway, all love goes to you peeps, i love youuuu aaaall**

 ***Guest: weeeell, i can't really say if your conclusions are right or wrong, siiiiince i can't give anything away, but there are some points you've given which i'll be taking into consideration for parts in the story. i've never been one for philosophy but i do love the idea of phenomenology, i think that was the only thing i've looked forward to back at my old class. still had lowest grades on it, but can't say im surprised. and, oh yeah, thanks for giving me the name of that theory, finally have something to pin it on, and i think i'll take a look on the higgs field theory. searched it up a bit just a little ago, and it really is pretty interesting, speed man speed. well, i don't think i could write sans as he is in perfect canon-ical sense, but i'll try harder to make his character better (i failed in this chapter though, cough cough). on that related note, this really is an alternate story, so im not going to promise that all of the canon characters will be in their perfect canon selves (like sans' age here, which will be discussed in detail in a later chapter) soo. but thank you though, for a lot of the new perspectives you've given me**

 **feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated**


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